Somewhere along the way, we opted to visit Alabama. Amey has wanted to shop at the lost luggage store for a few years now, and I've been hankering for a hunk of Alabama barbeque for some time. So, Tuesday we decided to take our time and meander out of the mountains into the DEEP south.
Morning came late, and we trudged down to the hotel's restaurant for our first meal. The same lady that cooked our supper the night before had prepared the best homemade biscuits and sausage gravy that I have ever eaten. The coffee wasn't nearly of the same quality. In this part of the country, folks drink a watered down bitter brew they call coffee. It tasted like peat-swamp water to me. The biscuits and gravy made up for the coffee, though. I ate three helpings, which drew an approving comment from the southern lady whom had seemed quite skeptical of us "yankees" to that point.
With full bellies we hopped into the chariot and plotted our course to 'Bama. I-40 was closed down two days prior on the North Carolina/Tennessee border due to a massive rockslide, and a detour north was causing delays on the Interstate. This made our decision easy to take US and state highways from the Blue Ridge mountains into the Great Smokies of Tennessee. Rain poured down on us as we followed the trail of tears through Cherokee nation. In the 1800's the Cherokee people were displaced from their homes in the mountains of North Carolina and Tennessee and forced to march west. In one of our nations darkest moments, thousands of people died of disease, hunger, and cold as they were pushed west to Oklahoma. The route is commemorated, and today a small area of North Carolina is all that remains of the Cherokee homeland.
As we left North Carolina we passed through steep gorges, hugging a river in a national forest. For miles we saw nothing but rugged terrain, the river, lakes, and the occasional grand lodge. This recreational area in East Tennessee was built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930's, and is a true gem, even on a rainy day. Because we passed through in the late fall, we nearly had the place to ourselves. I enjoyed the stonework chimneys of the lodges, and the mingling of nature, recreation, and industrial development. The river also serves as a power-generation source for the valley, and several large hydroelectric dams power the Tennessee Valley Authority's lines. These monuments were also constructed at the tail-end of the great depression, and brought electricity to the people. Oftentimes industry destroys the natural beauty of an area, but they seem to co-exist in this part of the country.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Thursday, October 29, 2009
West Carolina Sapphires on Monday
Monday morning we trekked up to the hills of west Carolina in search of some corundrum, specifically saphires and maybe a ruby if extremely lucky. Having researched potential mines carefully, we concluded that there are two types of "public mines" in North Carolina: elaborate crafted "mine experiences" and genuine gem producing locales that provide a place, real natural material from that place, and a facility to process the material. With the former you are paying for the lowest quality South American gemstones around, plus a fee to cover the cost of the "mine" building an attraction and paying workers to lace the ground, a stream, or your buckets of dirt with cheaper gems. If you like feeding your kids a line of crap, make them believe in the Easter bunny and such, then this is the place to go. An expectation for an experience is built with advertising and on-site marketing, and fulfillment is delivered quickly and easily. The latter of the two options for a mine is often an extremely remote hillside, which produces gemstones in reasonable abundance and frequency. Typically a family owns some earth moving equipment, happen to be rockhounds, has a nice piece of land (with stream nearby), and decides to build a sluice. A visitor to this type of mine is going to get dirty, pay a little more, may find nothing, but most likely will walk away tired (in a good way) with a bag of gems and a unique true-to-locale experience.
We chose to drive up to the Mason Mine. I think it's the Mason mine. There's another mine with a similar name that is as crappy as the one we visited is good. Regardless, we traveled to the mine by way of many miles on Interstate 40. We embarked from our quaint extended stay room in checkered Winston-Salem after an early morning gas-up. It was a rough morning. An alarm went off for the first time in several days. The night prior we were up late enjoying North Carolina's fine food and beverage. The combination of the two resulted in an incessant need for large quantities of cheap southern hotel coffee. We did manage to hit the road early, and bolt out of Andy Griffith country into the hill country of Appalachia. One consequence of high coffee intake was regular rest breaks. That part of North Carolina has nice gas stations. After several hours of interstate driving we found that the hills got steeper and the road winded around the mountains. The hillsides were picturesque with the fall colors shining in the lazy southern fall sun. Apart from the foul smell of paper mill towns we enjoyed what our senses perceived.
The directions to our mine were quite sketchy and assembled from rockhound message boards, some dating back to dial-up BBS days. Not to knock the good 'ole BBS, I once logged on, but any information communicated via a BBS on dial-up servers has probably been around for at least 5 years. Every message board we found warned that google and mapquest create routes to the mine that travel over cow paths and nonexistent roads. We chose to drive to Franklin, and wing it from there. Just prior to the exit for the highway that leads to Franklin we spotted an information center sign. We pulled off, and found small information hut tucked into the corner of a small truck stop. Nothing else could be found, no other businesses or residences. The exit sat nestled in a little North Carolina valley.
We were greeted in the information hut by a fine gentleman transplanted from upstate New York. He traveled down to the mountains of west Carolina via the Blue Ridge Parkway 40 years prior, and never left. Somehow he knew we were looking for gems, probably because the only thing in town were trees and rocks. After a brief conversation and assurances that we were on the right path, we embarked into Franklin. The highway that leads to Mason mine resembles many Maine backroads -- not Maine highways, but backroads. After 20 minutes of winding up into the mountains, the road started to narrow and fork every few miles. We faithfully followed small read signs that read "Mine ->". Cow pastures, log cabins, small stick built houses, and barns lined our path. Because the grade is so severe, the small homesteads we passed were tucked into the hillsides Alpine-style. Think Abe Lincoln's cabin in Switzerland, and you're pretty close. At this point it occurred to me that we'd be travelling back at dusk, and that the signs were small and nailed to trees. I nervously made mental notes of my surroundings. After 45 minutes the road turned to dirt, narrowed to a single land, and dead-ended. Alas, our mine!
The Mason mine consists of a camper, some picnic tables, and a cabin amongst a hickory stand at the bottom of a steep hillside. Between the cabin and the hillside a small stream runs through. A dam retains water for a small sluice operation. In a nutshell: two troughs were constructed alongside the stream. Water is pumped from the stream into one end, passes through the sluice, and empties into a retaining pond which slowly filters back into the stream. Sluice-mining is an ardous process -- dirt ("ore") is carried down the hillside 10 gallons at a time, and then processed with a screen in the sluice. The water washes fine and light material out of the screen, with some human assistance, and a tray of small pebbles remain. Using a gold panning technique, the pebbles are sorted lightest to heaviest from one end of the screen to the other, and the heavy material is visually inspected for sapphires.
Amey and I were given pointers from the staff on what to look for when selecting ore from the hillside. Stay away from clay, look for a light brown subsoil. They also pointed out where in the subsoil sapphires are found, and helped us refine our screening technique. Very quickly we found our first hexagonal, steely blue sapphires. The excitement of plucking a gemstone from what is essentially a giant pile of dirt made for a fun afternoon. Some buckets turned out several nice stones, others turned out to be nothing more than a pile of rocks. We stayed until the mine closed for the day, and vowed to return.
After we put away our equipment, we stepped into the cabin to chat with our gracious hosts. It became quickly apparent that the owner/operators had the rock-bug themselves, and were in business to support their own hobby. They showed us several nice cut stones they had collected over the years, and shared information about another gem found in NC, emeralds. There are only two reputable emerald mines open to the public in NC, and our new friends recommended the Crabtree mine. Because emerald mining involves the removal of massive amounts of material in search of veins of the mineral, it is difficult for the recreational gem enthusiast to find native stones on their own. However, the Crabtree mine charges a modest fee for hobbyists to scour their tailings. (Tailings are materials cast aside / left over from the mine.) Because commercial mines move tons of material a day, and are looking for the really big stuff, they often miss some really nice specimens. One of the men at the Mason mine showed us a shoebox full of rough-cut emeralds he found in a day. He even cut a few into some massive stones which he mounted onto a ring. The conversation also turned to Maine's mineral history. As exotic as rubies are to Maine, tourmaline is to North Carolina. Our host hoped to someday visit Maine in search of our world-class tourmaline. He explained that tourmaline is found in Maine because we were farther North and the geology formed minerals under great pressures, creating tourmaline.
The sun began to set, and we hoofed it back to downtown Franklin. Somehow we were able to guess our way back to the Interstate, and drove into Asheville. Tired and hungry, we feasted on a homemade chili made by the kitchen of the hotel, and turned in early. At the end of the day we had an incredible memory and over a dozen sapphires to commemorate it.
We chose to drive up to the Mason Mine. I think it's the Mason mine. There's another mine with a similar name that is as crappy as the one we visited is good. Regardless, we traveled to the mine by way of many miles on Interstate 40. We embarked from our quaint extended stay room in checkered Winston-Salem after an early morning gas-up. It was a rough morning. An alarm went off for the first time in several days. The night prior we were up late enjoying North Carolina's fine food and beverage. The combination of the two resulted in an incessant need for large quantities of cheap southern hotel coffee. We did manage to hit the road early, and bolt out of Andy Griffith country into the hill country of Appalachia. One consequence of high coffee intake was regular rest breaks. That part of North Carolina has nice gas stations. After several hours of interstate driving we found that the hills got steeper and the road winded around the mountains. The hillsides were picturesque with the fall colors shining in the lazy southern fall sun. Apart from the foul smell of paper mill towns we enjoyed what our senses perceived.
The directions to our mine were quite sketchy and assembled from rockhound message boards, some dating back to dial-up BBS days. Not to knock the good 'ole BBS, I once logged on, but any information communicated via a BBS on dial-up servers has probably been around for at least 5 years. Every message board we found warned that google and mapquest create routes to the mine that travel over cow paths and nonexistent roads. We chose to drive to Franklin, and wing it from there. Just prior to the exit for the highway that leads to Franklin we spotted an information center sign. We pulled off, and found small information hut tucked into the corner of a small truck stop. Nothing else could be found, no other businesses or residences. The exit sat nestled in a little North Carolina valley.
We were greeted in the information hut by a fine gentleman transplanted from upstate New York. He traveled down to the mountains of west Carolina via the Blue Ridge Parkway 40 years prior, and never left. Somehow he knew we were looking for gems, probably because the only thing in town were trees and rocks. After a brief conversation and assurances that we were on the right path, we embarked into Franklin. The highway that leads to Mason mine resembles many Maine backroads -- not Maine highways, but backroads. After 20 minutes of winding up into the mountains, the road started to narrow and fork every few miles. We faithfully followed small read signs that read "Mine ->". Cow pastures, log cabins, small stick built houses, and barns lined our path. Because the grade is so severe, the small homesteads we passed were tucked into the hillsides Alpine-style. Think Abe Lincoln's cabin in Switzerland, and you're pretty close. At this point it occurred to me that we'd be travelling back at dusk, and that the signs were small and nailed to trees. I nervously made mental notes of my surroundings. After 45 minutes the road turned to dirt, narrowed to a single land, and dead-ended. Alas, our mine!
The Mason mine consists of a camper, some picnic tables, and a cabin amongst a hickory stand at the bottom of a steep hillside. Between the cabin and the hillside a small stream runs through. A dam retains water for a small sluice operation. In a nutshell: two troughs were constructed alongside the stream. Water is pumped from the stream into one end, passes through the sluice, and empties into a retaining pond which slowly filters back into the stream. Sluice-mining is an ardous process -- dirt ("ore") is carried down the hillside 10 gallons at a time, and then processed with a screen in the sluice. The water washes fine and light material out of the screen, with some human assistance, and a tray of small pebbles remain. Using a gold panning technique, the pebbles are sorted lightest to heaviest from one end of the screen to the other, and the heavy material is visually inspected for sapphires.
Amey and I were given pointers from the staff on what to look for when selecting ore from the hillside. Stay away from clay, look for a light brown subsoil. They also pointed out where in the subsoil sapphires are found, and helped us refine our screening technique. Very quickly we found our first hexagonal, steely blue sapphires. The excitement of plucking a gemstone from what is essentially a giant pile of dirt made for a fun afternoon. Some buckets turned out several nice stones, others turned out to be nothing more than a pile of rocks. We stayed until the mine closed for the day, and vowed to return.
After we put away our equipment, we stepped into the cabin to chat with our gracious hosts. It became quickly apparent that the owner/operators had the rock-bug themselves, and were in business to support their own hobby. They showed us several nice cut stones they had collected over the years, and shared information about another gem found in NC, emeralds. There are only two reputable emerald mines open to the public in NC, and our new friends recommended the Crabtree mine. Because emerald mining involves the removal of massive amounts of material in search of veins of the mineral, it is difficult for the recreational gem enthusiast to find native stones on their own. However, the Crabtree mine charges a modest fee for hobbyists to scour their tailings. (Tailings are materials cast aside / left over from the mine.) Because commercial mines move tons of material a day, and are looking for the really big stuff, they often miss some really nice specimens. One of the men at the Mason mine showed us a shoebox full of rough-cut emeralds he found in a day. He even cut a few into some massive stones which he mounted onto a ring. The conversation also turned to Maine's mineral history. As exotic as rubies are to Maine, tourmaline is to North Carolina. Our host hoped to someday visit Maine in search of our world-class tourmaline. He explained that tourmaline is found in Maine because we were farther North and the geology formed minerals under great pressures, creating tourmaline.
The sun began to set, and we hoofed it back to downtown Franklin. Somehow we were able to guess our way back to the Interstate, and drove into Asheville. Tired and hungry, we feasted on a homemade chili made by the kitchen of the hotel, and turned in early. At the end of the day we had an incredible memory and over a dozen sapphires to commemorate it.
Sunday in North Carolina
We stayed on the outskirts of Winston-Salem, in an extended stay hotel with kitchenette. Sunday was another day of rest for us. We explored the area in search of a local supermarket. Harris Teeter was our destination because it was the first we came upon when bumbling around the local roads. The market has a southern feel, with ornate cast-iron signage and down-homey marketing materials throughout the store. I found it interesting that they grouped produce, deli, and bakery into one department called "fresh". The store is laid out opposite of most Hannaford's, with shoppers entering on the left and shopping counter-clockwise. The customer base in North Carolina must value bargains, because I saw numerous signs extolling the virtues of saving money created by bagging your own groceries, "check it yourself", cleaning up your own spills (they have boxes of wipes in prominent locations that implore you to clean up your own spill so that prices stay low), and paying for what you leave with (they have TV's throughout the store reminding you that you're on camera.) Some gems in the store were their meat department, health and beauty aids, halloween promotional section, and shopping carts. They utilize ergonomic push carts with two cup holders. Their Halloween candy is merchandised in mass-fashion between the entrance and their express-checkout. Health and Beauty is in a separate section decorated like an old southern drug store. Their meat is about 15% more expensive than that back home, but the quality is superior. Wal-Mart is huge down here, so I'm guessing their strategy is to grab a clientele looking for better quality and more convenience. We purchased some fresh, local sausage and headed back to the hotel to make sausage and cabbage. It was superior to the product from Maine, with finely ground quality pork shoulder nicely seasoned in a thin and tender casing. Cooked up beautifully with our Pennsylvania cabbage. I washed mine down with Cheerwine, a delightful local Carolina soda. It tasted like a cross between black-cherry soda, 7-up, and cola. Unique and tasty.
We capped our day off by shopping at a world imports market, and kicked back with a movie at the hotel. Rest and relaxation to the max before a day of hard work on Monday.
We capped our day off by shopping at a world imports market, and kicked back with a movie at the hotel. Rest and relaxation to the max before a day of hard work on Monday.
Saturday -- Day 4 in Lebanon
Saturday was a recovery and travel day for us. After breakfast we washed our laundry, packed our bags, and soaked in the hot tub before hitting I-81, bound for North Carolina.
It was a good travel day, partly sunny and in the upper 60's. One note from the night before: apparently bowling is a major Friday night activity in this part of Pennsylvania. We braved torrential rains and drove 10 miles to the local alley the night before, and discovered that the place was PACKED. Rather than wait for a lane, we headed back to the hotel. It was a worthwhile drive, because we were entertained by several, apparently competing to be the largest, neon signs declaring that "Jesus saves." The largest was a neon cross and sign that must have been 20+ feet tall. I've never seen red neon and religion in the same place. We also came across a nice polished steel diner along the highway.
Back to Saturday -- we drove several hundred miles, eating a delicious lunch of Pennsylvania tomato and cheese sandwiches on Sandi's delicious breads with cucumber chunks on the side. Amey is an amazing dashboard cook, preparing the entire meal on a plastic plate with plastic dinnerware. It was extremely delicious. We enjoyed a beautiful sunset as we wound our way through Virginia's blue ridge mountains. Somehow Amey is still an omnivore, even after admiring the cuteness of several thousand beef cattle whom were grazing on the hillsides of Virginia.
Just after nightfall we wound our way through Winston-Salem, taking in the tobacco-funded skyline. Because North Carolina doesn't observe basic highway numbering, we ended up travelling east on I-40 "Business", which is labeled west. I turned around and went west on regular I-40, but then drove past our exit because the hotel directions stated to get of at exit 189. Apparently exit 189 is labeled exit 190 when travelling west, and labeled 189 when travelling east. Good times! After driving 15 miles past our exit to turn around for a second time, and meeting a nice man in charge of sweeping leaves out of the rest area all night, we finally found our hotel.
We settled in, made up a salad of Pennsylvania produce, and took some rest.
~Mike
Day 3 -- Friday in Lancaster County, PA
After a bagel and a coffee we headed for Hershey on the way to Lancaster county.
At the highway exit we noticed a nondescript building labeled "farmer's market", with a full parking lot. The temptation of local produce lured us into the warehouse-style building for a brief stop. It was quickly apparent the produce exchange was a local gem, and not a tourist trap. Vendors purveyed homemade ice cream, cider, vegetables, crafts, and baked goods. Amey checked out a small bakery while I examined the produce. I found it impressive that high quality, locally grown broccoli, cauliflower, beets, cukes, peppers, tomatoes were offered alongside pumpkins, gourds, squash, and apples late into October. Our short Maine growing season typically offers "windows of opportunity" for these products, and seldom can you find all of these at once in abundance.
Meanwhile, Amey tasted breads and desserts made by a husband and wife team. Sandi's bakery specialized in artisan breads, sweet rolls, and even granola bars. One popular local item is a sweet roll with sticky pecan topping. YUM!
I purchased a cabbage the size of a basketball, a couple of cukes, two giant heads of broccoli, a head of lettuce, 5 good sized tomatoes, and a couple of peppers for about 7 bucks and joined Amey at the bakery booth.
We learned that the proprietors mill their own flour from wheat berries on a millstone, on premises. Every product is made with 100% fresh-milled, whole wheat flour. I was astounded, because the products I had tasted were soft and moist, and didn't have that slightly bitter taste that whole wheat sometime leaves in your mouth. The reason of course, is because the flour is milled on site. Whole-wheat flour is volatile, with a short shelf life. The fresher, the better.
Unable to resist, we purchased a sesame-seeded loaf, a sun-dried tomato mini-loaf, and a pair of homemade granola bars. (Grab-a-nola.)
Back to the road. A few minutes down a beautiful Dutch-country road, and we arrived at Hershey. The water tower and smokestacks in the distance conjured up Charlie and the chocolate factory in my mind, while the theme park reeked of theme park. The Hershey's chocolate world ride was fun, and overtly aimed at pushing chocolate on the rider. A barrage of jingles, happy music, incredible chocolate smells, singing cows, and colorful sights all screamed "CHOCOLATE IS DELICIOUS. EAT CHOCOLATE." After disembarking, we were directed into a maze of chocolate paraphernalia. Chocolate t-shirts, mugs, bags, glasses, hats, clocks, shoes, socks, baby outfits, paintings, and other hardgoods were displayed along with every Hershey product in existence today. Of note were 16 oz peanut butter cups the size of plates and a 5 pound Hershey bar. We opted for a few candy bars and a black-cat themed wooden box.
With the day still young, we headed further down the highway into Lancaster county. This corner of the world is full of dairy farms and operations that support dairy farms. The iconic image of barn, farmhouse, and pair of silos is literally found every place you look here. The crops of choice are corn and hay for the cows, of course.
Wandering down historic route 341 in the towns of Intercourse and Bird-in-Hand, we found some authentic Amish and Mennonite craft markets among the tourist joints. I've concluded that the Amish quite often make the goods found, but more often Mennonites sell them. It is interesting to interlope into the lives of people who forgo many of the modern conveniences we count on. The conformity of the place is also appealing. I enjoyed observing the three basic buggy types: full-size, mid-size, and subcompact. The full size is large and boxy, and typically use for major cargo transport or to house tour groups. Most of the locals utilize mid-size buggies, which are pulled by a single horse. They appear to seat two comfortably, but I've seen entire families in them. Think a family of 6 in a VW Bug, and you won't be far off. Imagine that in the heat of August while wearing black wool. I admire the fortitude of this group.
At one craft market, I heard a horse whinny behind the building, and investigated. I saw a girl, who looked to be about ten, tie off the horse and head into the market. I was amazed by her sense of purpose as she went about her business. She was driving a mini-version of the buggy, which was a little bigger than a racing sulky, and pulled by a miniature horse. Typically individuals travelling the roads utilize the push-bike, a scooter-like contraption.
We purchased some exceptional local cheese to go with our bread obtained earlier in the day, and headed for a local restaurant for a family style meal. Seated with a couple from New Jersey, we shared conversation about Maine, Jersey, and weddings. Our dinner-mates were planning a spring wedding, and we discussed the daunting task planning a wedding can be.
The food at the restaurant was outstanding. I ate chow-chow (think three bean salad + various vegetables), buttered rolls, raisin bread with icing, cole slaw, roast beef (the best I've ever eaten), fried chicken (also the best I've ever tasted), sausage (best ever, see a theme?), chicken pot pie with dumplings, mashed potato, egg noodles with browned butter, dried toasted corn (which is soaked and cooked), shoo-fly pie, and ice cream. Everything on the menu is made from scratch, and brought to the table fresh and delicious. I've never eaten so much in my life, and it was incredibly good. Somebody explained that the restaurant hires local farm-cooks, who are skilled at cooking traditional local dishes for large crowds. I highly recommend this family-style feast to anyone that doesn't mind sharing a table with strangers.
After the gargantuan meal we drove back to the hotel, and capped off the evening with some wine.
The day was a great balance of sightseeing, shopping, eating, and drinking. Oh, the epicurean life!
~Mike
At the highway exit we noticed a nondescript building labeled "farmer's market", with a full parking lot. The temptation of local produce lured us into the warehouse-style building for a brief stop. It was quickly apparent the produce exchange was a local gem, and not a tourist trap. Vendors purveyed homemade ice cream, cider, vegetables, crafts, and baked goods. Amey checked out a small bakery while I examined the produce. I found it impressive that high quality, locally grown broccoli, cauliflower, beets, cukes, peppers, tomatoes were offered alongside pumpkins, gourds, squash, and apples late into October. Our short Maine growing season typically offers "windows of opportunity" for these products, and seldom can you find all of these at once in abundance.
Meanwhile, Amey tasted breads and desserts made by a husband and wife team. Sandi's bakery specialized in artisan breads, sweet rolls, and even granola bars. One popular local item is a sweet roll with sticky pecan topping. YUM!
I purchased a cabbage the size of a basketball, a couple of cukes, two giant heads of broccoli, a head of lettuce, 5 good sized tomatoes, and a couple of peppers for about 7 bucks and joined Amey at the bakery booth.
We learned that the proprietors mill their own flour from wheat berries on a millstone, on premises. Every product is made with 100% fresh-milled, whole wheat flour. I was astounded, because the products I had tasted were soft and moist, and didn't have that slightly bitter taste that whole wheat sometime leaves in your mouth. The reason of course, is because the flour is milled on site. Whole-wheat flour is volatile, with a short shelf life. The fresher, the better.
Unable to resist, we purchased a sesame-seeded loaf, a sun-dried tomato mini-loaf, and a pair of homemade granola bars. (Grab-a-nola.)
Back to the road. A few minutes down a beautiful Dutch-country road, and we arrived at Hershey. The water tower and smokestacks in the distance conjured up Charlie and the chocolate factory in my mind, while the theme park reeked of theme park. The Hershey's chocolate world ride was fun, and overtly aimed at pushing chocolate on the rider. A barrage of jingles, happy music, incredible chocolate smells, singing cows, and colorful sights all screamed "CHOCOLATE IS DELICIOUS. EAT CHOCOLATE." After disembarking, we were directed into a maze of chocolate paraphernalia. Chocolate t-shirts, mugs, bags, glasses, hats, clocks, shoes, socks, baby outfits, paintings, and other hardgoods were displayed along with every Hershey product in existence today. Of note were 16 oz peanut butter cups the size of plates and a 5 pound Hershey bar. We opted for a few candy bars and a black-cat themed wooden box.
With the day still young, we headed further down the highway into Lancaster county. This corner of the world is full of dairy farms and operations that support dairy farms. The iconic image of barn, farmhouse, and pair of silos is literally found every place you look here. The crops of choice are corn and hay for the cows, of course.
Wandering down historic route 341 in the towns of Intercourse and Bird-in-Hand, we found some authentic Amish and Mennonite craft markets among the tourist joints. I've concluded that the Amish quite often make the goods found, but more often Mennonites sell them. It is interesting to interlope into the lives of people who forgo many of the modern conveniences we count on. The conformity of the place is also appealing. I enjoyed observing the three basic buggy types: full-size, mid-size, and subcompact. The full size is large and boxy, and typically use for major cargo transport or to house tour groups. Most of the locals utilize mid-size buggies, which are pulled by a single horse. They appear to seat two comfortably, but I've seen entire families in them. Think a family of 6 in a VW Bug, and you won't be far off. Imagine that in the heat of August while wearing black wool. I admire the fortitude of this group.
At one craft market, I heard a horse whinny behind the building, and investigated. I saw a girl, who looked to be about ten, tie off the horse and head into the market. I was amazed by her sense of purpose as she went about her business. She was driving a mini-version of the buggy, which was a little bigger than a racing sulky, and pulled by a miniature horse. Typically individuals travelling the roads utilize the push-bike, a scooter-like contraption.
We purchased some exceptional local cheese to go with our bread obtained earlier in the day, and headed for a local restaurant for a family style meal. Seated with a couple from New Jersey, we shared conversation about Maine, Jersey, and weddings. Our dinner-mates were planning a spring wedding, and we discussed the daunting task planning a wedding can be.
The food at the restaurant was outstanding. I ate chow-chow (think three bean salad + various vegetables), buttered rolls, raisin bread with icing, cole slaw, roast beef (the best I've ever eaten), fried chicken (also the best I've ever tasted), sausage (best ever, see a theme?), chicken pot pie with dumplings, mashed potato, egg noodles with browned butter, dried toasted corn (which is soaked and cooked), shoo-fly pie, and ice cream. Everything on the menu is made from scratch, and brought to the table fresh and delicious. I've never eaten so much in my life, and it was incredibly good. Somebody explained that the restaurant hires local farm-cooks, who are skilled at cooking traditional local dishes for large crowds. I highly recommend this family-style feast to anyone that doesn't mind sharing a table with strangers.
After the gargantuan meal we drove back to the hotel, and capped off the evening with some wine.
The day was a great balance of sightseeing, shopping, eating, and drinking. Oh, the epicurean life!
~Mike
Monday, October 26, 2009
Leg 2 -- Thursday -- Lowell to Lebanon, PA
Thursday morning Amey and I stumbled out of our slumber around 10. Casey phoned us just as we finished our morning routine and prepared to disembark from her apartment.
Around 11 we rolled up to the Swan office, and discussed the reality of our roadtrip with Swan. It had become apparent to me and Amey that a 5400 mile drive is insane, and had opted to enjoy some time visiting authentic America. The opportunity to spend nearly two weeks doing all of those things our itineraries had previously denied was too good to pass up. We also shared with Swan our intention of logging our journey in this format. After reminiscing on how much fun our last trip as a group was, Amey and I departed for Jiffy Lube.
We were greeted like visiting royalty by the Jiffy Lube staff. Within 90 seconds of pulling in the parking lot my car was being worked on and I was providing the final details for our work order. I was offered additional services in a well choreographed attempt at an upsell, and declined. It wasn't until just before my service was complete that I discovered a corporate inspection in progress. As an added bonus we caught a glimpse of an old Boston and Maine steam locomotive on the way to the interstate.
The afternoon trek to Pennsylvania was leisurely and scenic as we passed through the vibrant hardwood forests of central Connecticut and the Hudson River valley of New York. More fun with Boston drivers -- as I merged onto the interstate the driver of the vehicle behind us removed both hands from the wheel and waved them around as if he were trying to fend off stinging bees while making crazed expressions with his face. Although I must admit Boston drivers generally stay out of your way if you stay out of their way. We discovered that some rural Penn. drivers go 52 everywhere, in every lane, which turns into a slow-moving parade of frustrated drivers on the highway.
We found a great deal on a hotel in Lebanon, PA, just outside of Amish country. After checking in, we toasted to a great second leg of driving with Dairy Queen, red wine, and some sitcoms.
One final note: truck stops are the gathering place for a uniquely American subculture. Those in transition meet with truckers in an other-worldly dispensary of greasy food, novelties, dvds, vehicle enhancements, lounges, showers, and books on tape. I get my gas exclusively from truck stops while travelling. I generally pay less per gallon for fuel, and I get to see, hear, and taste things that provide spice to an otherwise mundane drive. On this leg we accidentally wandered into the showers whilst looking for the bathrooms, and scored gobstoppers for 49 cents.
Around 11 we rolled up to the Swan office, and discussed the reality of our roadtrip with Swan. It had become apparent to me and Amey that a 5400 mile drive is insane, and had opted to enjoy some time visiting authentic America. The opportunity to spend nearly two weeks doing all of those things our itineraries had previously denied was too good to pass up. We also shared with Swan our intention of logging our journey in this format. After reminiscing on how much fun our last trip as a group was, Amey and I departed for Jiffy Lube.
We were greeted like visiting royalty by the Jiffy Lube staff. Within 90 seconds of pulling in the parking lot my car was being worked on and I was providing the final details for our work order. I was offered additional services in a well choreographed attempt at an upsell, and declined. It wasn't until just before my service was complete that I discovered a corporate inspection in progress. As an added bonus we caught a glimpse of an old Boston and Maine steam locomotive on the way to the interstate.
The afternoon trek to Pennsylvania was leisurely and scenic as we passed through the vibrant hardwood forests of central Connecticut and the Hudson River valley of New York. More fun with Boston drivers -- as I merged onto the interstate the driver of the vehicle behind us removed both hands from the wheel and waved them around as if he were trying to fend off stinging bees while making crazed expressions with his face. Although I must admit Boston drivers generally stay out of your way if you stay out of their way. We discovered that some rural Penn. drivers go 52 everywhere, in every lane, which turns into a slow-moving parade of frustrated drivers on the highway.
We found a great deal on a hotel in Lebanon, PA, just outside of Amish country. After checking in, we toasted to a great second leg of driving with Dairy Queen, red wine, and some sitcoms.
One final note: truck stops are the gathering place for a uniquely American subculture. Those in transition meet with truckers in an other-worldly dispensary of greasy food, novelties, dvds, vehicle enhancements, lounges, showers, and books on tape. I get my gas exclusively from truck stops while travelling. I generally pay less per gallon for fuel, and I get to see, hear, and taste things that provide spice to an otherwise mundane drive. On this leg we accidentally wandered into the showers whilst looking for the bathrooms, and scored gobstoppers for 49 cents.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Leg 1 -- Lowell
We hit the highway on Tuesday after Dan graciously agreed to watch the pets and hold down the homefront. We had taken Sunday through Tuesday to recover from the wedding and get things in order for our trip. It was nice to spend time with family and friends after the wedding and soak it all in. People asked if things are different after you are married; gladly we can share in this special covenant, because marriage changes everything for the good. Thank you to everyone that shared themselves with us and helped us in our wedding.
Onto the road! We returned one of the kegs on our way out of Maine, plugged in the AC inverter and hit the great trail like a trucker at 7PM. It was, with good fortune, a quiet ride to Lowell. Swan talked us into the city from 495, because we had been to her flat only once prior -- after a Blues Traveler show. The only complaint lodged against her neighborhood is a common one in the land of the Boston driver, they park on (literally ON) the curb facing against traffic. This led to a brief moment of panic as we concluded that we'd been travelling the wrong way on a one-way street. Swan assuaged our fears and we parked in front of the great apartment building.
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